Page 51 of The Last Special Thing

“What’s that?” Her words were barely out before she coughed again.

“Cinnamon whiskey.”

“Fucking whiskey,” she muttered. The spicy taste of cinnamon coated her tongue.

Despite the cough, they passed the flask back and forth, stopping for their “Art work” as Amelia coined it.

He answered that with a mocking “har har” laugh and another swig.

With each sip, the liquor went down smoother. They were lost and carefree when a flash of metal caught her eye.

“Art?” Her eyes fell to a pair of Razor scooters lying on an unkept lawn.

“Oh fuck yeah.” He picked one with blue handlebars up off the grass.

“Is this wrong?” Amelia asked.

Art moved swiftly. “Here we’ll trade.” He set the chalk in its place as an offering.

She eyed the second scooter and the chalk, still unsure.

“Don’t hesitate.” Art warned, “The second you hesitate, you’ve lost.”

Amelia grabbed the second one and started sliding down the sidewalk, wanting to be out of sight before a front door crashed open and she needed to explain to a pair of elementary school children what she had done.

Art followed her, then sped past her, leading the way down the middle of the vacant street. One foot on the metal platform and the other pushing off the sidewalk, she picked up speed, gliding into the ocean breeze. Her lungs expanded with freedom, and the liquor warmed her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she was on a scooter. She and Georgina had them as kids, but how long had it been since she was a kid?

A few blocks down, a three-story building sat among the houses. The windows were boarded, and the stucco was streaked grey. Art stopped ahead of it and shoved his scooter into a thorn bush that perimetered the area. Amelia stalled behind him, scooter in her hand, as he surveyed the structure.

“Aha! Amelia!” he called over his shoulder.

Where he saw adventure, she saw concern. A ladder hung from the second floor, not quite reaching the ground.

He bit his lip, stepped back a couple of feet, then sprinted and jumped to reach it. With his height and subsequently long arms, she was sure this wasn’t his first time breaking in somewhere.

His hand gripped the ladder as he lifted himself a rung. His shirt rose, revealing a strip of exposed stomach that clenched with every pull closer to the top.

“Where are you going?” Amelia whisper-shouted.

“I have no fucking idea, but you’re coming with me.”

The nearby houses were dark, leaving no witnesses for their breaking and entering. He swung his body with enough momentum to pull himself up to the platform of the second story.

“Fuck it,” she said with a whiskey-fueled confidence.

She let go of her scooter and narrowed her eyes in determination.

“You’re going to run and grab onto this bottom one,” Art instructed, pointing to the ladder.

“You’re overestimating my upper body strength.”

“I’m not. I saw you at the bootcamp class.”

She took a few steps back and then ran. Jumping forward, it was just out of her grasp. She stumbled before regaining her balance.

Art howled and doubled over in laughter on the perch. “I get it now,” he teased, “I was overestimating your coordination.”

Amelia glared at him as the moon glowed behind him. His dark hair and dark jacket formed no more than a captivating silhouette in the night.